Gull to the Wind
by ineedyoursway
Summary: All-consuming, irreversible love. Edward, 25, frontman of band The Masens, falls hard.
1. Chapter 1

let's make this happen, girl

we're gonna show the world that something good can work and it can work for you

and you know that it will

**two door cinema club**

* * *

><p>I'm really tired. Kind of exhausted. My appointment was thirty minutes ago in T-minus twelve seconds. The woman across from me is reading one of those magazines that advertise the secret faces of celebrities with no make-up. God, how hideous they all are! She licks her thumb every time she flips a page. It's annoying the shit out of me.<p>

On the outside cover is Edward Cullen. He usually surfaces at least once a month with some scandal or another, though they're generally the same thing. He sleeps with someone, he breaks up with them. Sometimes he gets sued by porn stars. I don't know.

He's got the face. You know. The pouty one. The John Mayer. Like every particle of his body is made up of some sort of sex escapade residue. He's usually smirking or scowling. Or smirk-scowling. Like right now. He's smirk-scowling at me from the cover of the magazine. It's like he knows that the doctor is running thirty minutes late and that the room smells like Icy Hot.

She rests the magazine on her lap. Edward Cullen is no longer smirk-scowling at me. Instead, he's smirk-scowling at thunder thighs. Ha. Eat that.

Ew. Never mind.

"Isabella Swan?"

A portly woman with graying hair and scrubs plastered with kittens glances around the room, tapping her clipboard with a pen. I stand and shuffle over to her, my messenger back digging into my sun burnt shoulder. It was only sunny for _one day _in Seattle, and, lo and behold, I'm burnt beyond belief. I wasn't even outside that much. I think I walked to the store to get a bagel and that's all it took.

"How are you?" she asks, leading me to a room and taking the blood pressure monitor off of the wall.

I put on my fake face and smile.

"Good, good. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm swell," she answers while inflating the cuff with unnatural vigor. I didn't even know people used the word swell any more. I mean, my grandma does, but I feel like she doesn't really count.

"What can we do for you today?"

"I need to switch birth control." I should've been out of here twenty minutes ago.

"Are you having problems with the one you're currently using?"

I can't talk seriously about my vagina with someone who has kittens all over them. It's like a pregnant cat threw up on her body.

"I'm just looking for something I can take less often."

"I think we can do that," she mumbles, clicking through her computer.

I should've been out of here twenty five minutes ago. Jessica is going to kill me.

We talk about some more mundane aspects of my life until she finally lets me off with a prescription for something with an overly-feminine sounding name. She waves to me like we're old friends as I practically bolt out of there. My car sits patiently waiting, the beat up red truck towering over the rest of the vehicles in the parking lot. It groans a little starting up, but pulls through.

The sky is milky white, with a struggling little sun attempting to push through the barrier. The bright clouds hang low, almost as if I could reach up and touch them. Seattle weather is an acquired taste, but I find it beautiful. I think we're secretly the closest to Heaven, what with the clouds so close so often.

The traffic out of Seattle is unbearable, as it always is. My dad's house sits on the outskirts, in a quaint little suburb with a quaint little high school that quaint little me attends. Quaintly. I'm about to be a senior, but I feel like I'm too old for this place. Then again, I often feel too young and too scared at the same time. Jessica's stupid little PT Cruiser is already sitting outside my house when I arrive.

If you don't automatically judge people who own PT Cruisers, you should start now.

She's sitting on my porch, but stands when I pull into the drive.

"You're fucking late. _And _your fucking door is locked! My clothes are in your fucking room. Now we have no fucking time to get ready!"

Jessica has the mouth of a sailor. It's because her dad's some super intense televangelist leader. Just blame the repression.

"Sorry, the traffic sucked. And the doctor sucked. My life sucked."

"Wah, wah, drama queen," she says as I lock up the car and fish the house keys out of my purse.

It's the second to last day of Bumbershoot, Seattle's yearly music festival. It's our last hurrah before senior year starts and we return to the drudgery of eight hours a day of learning facts about the Reformation Age.

"Get your clothes on now!" Jessica cries as we thunder up the stairs. I throw all of the clothes I own onto the bed, looking for something soft yet water proof. Yes, it exists. It's rare, but it exists.

Jessica puts on something skimpy and throws a clear poncho over it. I appraise her, arms crossed.

"You look like a water proof stripper."

"Success!" she shouts. "Now, hurry up."

She attacks her eyes with thick black eyeliner. She thinks it makes her look more mature and European. Apparently all Europeans really over-use their eyeliner. I end up with a black floor length skirt and loose blue, long-sleeved top. It's not exactly water proof, but oh well.

"God. Hello, Mormon," Jessica snorts.

"Hey! I like it. It's flow-y. And fashionable. And stuff," I say, unnaturally defensive.

"Yeah, if you're a grandma. Or a Mormon. Or in a cult. Or all three."

I scowl and throw my hair up in a bun. She's got on so much eyeliner that it's turned into eye shadow. Mission accomplished.

"Fuck you. Let's go."

We speed down the highway. Charlie would have a coronary. Thankfully, he's working the night shift. He also thinks I'm spending the night at Jessica's. Jessica's parents think she's spending the night at my house. It's a classic, but it never fails. Well, usually.

It's a little past noon when we get there. We wander, making eyes at boys who are both drunk and five years older than us. Jessica bats her eyes, which just makes her look strung out. I tell her and she flips me off, running up to a boy and unzipping then zipping his backpack.

"Oh, I just saw it was open so I was closing it!" she giggles, throwing her hair over her shoulder. I watch as he looks at her chest with appreciation. She really does have great tits for someone so short.

"Hey, I'm going to find a bathroom," I tell her, leaving so she has a chance to thrust her goods in his face. (Through her poncho, of course. Gotta keep it classy.)

The lines for the porta-potties are like eight hundred people long. I dance around in the back of the line, watching as some drunken twenty-somethings stumble up and cut the line, taking the open ones right as they are vacated. The rest of us just grumble, futile in our sober and therefore socially polite states.

I give up and try to find some secret porta-potties that aren't right next to the main stage. After wandering slash dancing around to keep my legs crossed, I see three behind a make-shift portable fence. A guy with a Live Nation shirt stands in front of the entrance, checking badges that hang from the necks of those who go in.

Crossing my fingers, I walk up and attempt to try my hand at my brilliant powers of seduction. I use the term "brilliant" loosely. Very loosely.

"What would you say if I just took a quick peek in there and used the bathroom? I would be so grateful to you. I just have to go to the bathroom so bad," I say to him, biting my lip.

He's older, with a mexistache that overpowers his already bloated face. The Live Nation shirt barely covers his beer belly, and his forehead is sweaty with the exertion of standing for so long. It's not even hot out.

"We're not allowed to let anyone in without proper documentation," he says.

"You can watch me. I'll be out so quickly you won't even know I was in there," I reply, crossing my legs.

"We're not allowed to let anyone in without proper documentation," he repeats.

"C'mon, please?" I ask, getting desperate now.

"We're not allowed-"

"Save it," I snap, cutting him off. Apparently Polly can only say one sentence.

I'm turning to leave when I see someone approaching the entrance, a VIP lanyard draped around his neck. He's wearing dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, his head tilted toward the ground. My internal debate it short. I _really _have to pee.

I intercept him. He's studying the ground so intensely that he doesn't even notice until he's within two feet of me, at which point he stumbles backward.

"I know this is kind of stupid to ask but could I borrow your VIP lanyard for like six seconds? Happy over here won't let me in to use the porta-potties without one. The lines for the regular ones are _so _long and I'm probably going to pee," I spout off, my voice going at a mile per minute. "I'll pee on your shoes," I add for emphasis.

He looks at his shoes, then up at my face.

"Look, I'm not going to steal it. I just really have to pee."

"Okay," he mumbles, shrugging. He takes off the lanyard and hands it to me.

"My bladder thanks you so much!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. It reddens.

Little do I know, this won't be the only time today that I unknowingly kiss Edward Cullen.

* * *

><p><strong>this is a modern adaptation of a very classic plot :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

she says, i like long walks and sci-fi movies

you're six foot tall and east coast bred

some lonely night we can get together

and I'm gonna tie your wrists with leather

and drill a tiny hole into your head

**andrew bird**

* * *

><p>VIP pass boy is hiding beneath the shade of a tree when I emerge from the bathroom. I have to scan the crowd a few times before I see him, cradling his cell phone to his ear and talking animatedly with the other hand. I lope over to him and he looks up.<p>

"I'll call you back," he says abruptly. He doesn't raise his voice like most people do while talking in a large crowd. Rather, it's unnervingly quiet.

"Thanks," I say, handing him the pass.

"I—it's no problem," he replies, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket. He cradles the back of his neck once the cell phone is gone, like he doesn't know where to put his hand now that it's empty.

The sun in Seattle is lingering this year, leaking over into September for just a short while. His clothes are too dark and thick for the weather, tepid warmth that only gets hotter the longer you stay outside. He must be broiling in the jeans, dark long-sleeved shirt and black jacket.

I realize I've overstayed my welcome. Both of us staring silently is starting to feel abnormal.

"Okay, well. I'm going to . . . go," I drawl slowly, awkwardly. I'm the queen of uncomfortable situations; I'm just off my game today. You'll see. Later. Much later.

"Right. Um, bye?" he offers, hands now shoved deep into his pockets.

"Bye," I say, waving my hand limply. Darting away, I shudder as if to rid myself of whatever just occurred. I weave through the crowd and spot Jessica. She's pretty easy to catch. After all, she's the lone slut in a sea of hipsters. (And I say that in the nicest way possible.)

Her hand slaps "casually" at the forearm of the same boy from earlier as she laughs. Arm boy chuckles slightly, but mostly he just watches her boobs bounce every time she exhales.

"Bella!" she cries, her breath already covered with the putrid smell of stale beer. Sure enough, an already warm, half empty can is in her hand. "Want some?" she asks, shoving it in my face. "Jeff got it for me. He's twenty-one." She wiggles her eyebrows.

"I think I'll pass," I say, pushing the can back toward her. She shrugs and takes a gulp.

"Want to hear the funniest joke you've ever heard in your entire life?" she asks, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. I watch as Jeff appreciates the view.

"Sure, why not?"

"Jeff told it to me. Okay. It's not really a joke, but it's funny. No, it's _hilarious_. It's the funniest fucking thing, right Jeff?"

Jeff nods vigorously. I can practically hear his train of thought: _please keep jumping, please keep jumping, please keep jumping, boobs_.

"Are you ever going to actually tell me the joke?" I ask.

"I told you, it's not really a joke! Anyway, here it is. I'm on a sea food diet. I see food, and then I eat it. Get it? Do you get it?"

She's already laughing. She started laughing halfway through her sentence. I stare at her dumbly until a voice sounds from over my shoulder, deep and throaty and much closer to my ear than social etiquette is supposed to allow.

"Is your friend always this funny or is this a new thing?" it asks.

I turn around to find myself face to face with VIP boy, minus the actual VIP pass. Thankfully he knows that it's a major faux pas to go around flaunting it in front of us normal people. I decide to play along.

"Oh, she's always been this hilarious. In fact, I think it might be a talent that she was born with."

VIP boy smirks slightly. I know that smirk.

"You'll have to teach me someday. I think I could really learn from you," he tells her, practically crooning, though staring straight at me.

Jessica has been looking back and forth between us. Finally, she catches up on the fact that we've been making fun of her this whole time.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice full of venom. She always has been an angry drunk. "But who even are you?"

I find myself with the irrational urge to defend him.

"Um, you're excused. He's my friend . . . Andy. We've been friends for forever. Since we were kids," I say, wrapping my arm around his waist. He stiffens momentarily, then starts playing along.

"Yes. For ages. I can't even remember how long I've known . . . you."

He still doesn't know my name. Oops.

"Well then why have I never heard of an Andy?" Jessica asks, her lips drawn tight to points at each corner. Jeff is getting bored. She's no longer bouncing.

"Because . . . he was a secret. Obviously."

Wow. Excuse me while I continue being an improvisational genius.

VIP boy gives me a look from underneath his sunglasses. Not impressed.

Distraction. Quick. Go.

"Oh my God, I love this band," I say obnoxiously, pulling him by the hand through the crowd. He jogs after me, shouldering his way through various people as he tries to keep up. "Come on, let's go to the front," I scream, the music already starting. I actually _do _really love this band. I feel the adrenaline pumping as I push myself closer to the stage.

I get stuck a few feet from the fence, which is equivalent to miles in concert terms. There's a wall of human giraffes in front of me. They're moving like the tide, back and forth to the beat. I stand on my toes and try to look over their shoulders, but I'm just not tall enough.

I groan and cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Do you want to go on my shoulders?" Andy asks, right up against my ear again. I forgot I even pulled him along. I turn around and face him. I don't even know what he looks like, really. All I see is his mouth and cheeks and chin and ears and just a tiny, tiny bit of hair peeking out from beneath his cap. But he is tall. Tall enough that I would be able to see everything. A girl can't pass that opportunity up.

I nod and he stands in front of me, shuffling the human giraffes forward as he leans down to let me up. They shoot him disgruntled angry faces but he doesn't seem to notice.

It isn't until my legs are securely wrapped around his neck that I remember my clothing of choice this morning and oh my God my vagina is like one centimeter of cloth from touching his skin excuse me while I die of both embarrassment and happiness. I shift and he reaches up to steady me, hand on thigh and why is this so erotic I'm such a pervert.

"Andy!" I call, no longer caring that it isn't really his name. He looks up anyway, his hat in my stomach. "Thanks," I grin. He just smiles and looks away.

The band is good. Not great, but good. Andy's foot taps up and down for the first few songs, but then the beat gets louder. Heavier. The crowd begins to move, swell. He's struggling to keep me steady. His hands continue to dart up and grip my calves, thighs. The creep in me begs the crowd to move more, to keep him tripping and tossing and grabbing.

But, it doesn't. The song ends and the show ends and my minor porno ends and the crowd disperses. I slide down his back until my feet touch the ground.

"Thanks," I say again, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. He catches my hand and does it himself, tucking it behind my ear. He looks a bit shocked afterward and digs his hands deep in his pockets.

We stand awkwardly. Again.

God, Andy, grow some social skills.

"Okay, well . . . bye."

"Not that again," he says, catching my arm as I begin to turn away. He hesitates for a beat before letting go. He opens his mouth, but it's a moment before any words come out.

Instead, he closes the gap between us and pushes his mouth against mine. I wouldn't call it a kiss, really. More of an intense release of pressure which only creates more pressure. His sunglasses scrape my cheekbones. I imagine what his eyelashes feel like. The hair on his chin and cheeks is growing in—rough, raw. I only feel the slightest tip of his tongue before he pulls away, gripping his head like a mad man.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asks, voice low and breathy. "God, I sound like a teenager," he mutters, entirely off-hand.

"Hey, I take offense to that," I grin playfully.

"Take offense?" he begins, confused. And then he understands. "You're a teenager. Jesus . . . Jesus. Are you at least eighteen?" He's scowling now. Indecisive. His cheeks are red but it's not hot out.

"I will be in two weeks."

He moans and slides his sunglasses out of the way, rubbings his eyes with two callused fingers. He then makes the mistake of not putting his sunglasses back on. _I_ then make the mistake of letting my mouth drop open for an inappropriate amount of time, gaping like a fish.

He looks at me for a moment, then curses.

"Shit," he groans, sliding his glasses back on.

"Edward Cullen," I state.

I pinch my arm.

"Did you just pinch yourself?" he asks, baffled. He's almost laughing. I'm probably delirious.

"I was just checking!" I reply defensively, crossing my arms. "You never know. Wait. Aren't you supposed to be _playing _at this festival?"

"Not until later."

"Oh, right. You're _headlining_. Of course. How could I forget? Jessica has only been talking about your show since she came out of the womb."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Sure."

More awkward standing. We are getting seriously good at this.

Thankfully, I hear Jessica calling my name through the crowd. She's on me in minutes, clutching my forearm with a vice-like grip. Jeff is gone. I wonder if she let him feel her up behind one of those overpriced teriyaki shacks. I wouldn't exactly put it past her.

"We have to go, like, now. My dad's been calling me and wants to talk to your dad. You know I can't do his impression well enough. Come on, we have to get to a quiet place." She's already tugging me away.

I watch as Edward Cullen—yes, Edward Cullen—gets smaller and smaller and smaller, until he's just another twenty-something in a crowd of fans.

He lets me go.

* * *

><p><strong>schooooooooools out for summa. schoooools out foreva. <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

yours is the first face that i saw

i think i was blind before i met you

now i don't know where i am

i don't know where i've been

but i know where i want to go

**bright eyes**

* * *

><p>"Did you know that more people are Facebook fans of Lady Gaga than of music in general?"<p>

I can hear Jessica flirting from here. I can tell she's flirting because all Jessica's flirts consist of are random facts that no one cares about, and a lot of well-timed stretching and squeezing. I have her cell phone cradled between my ear and shoulder as my eyes scan the crowd. It's just one mass of hipsters. It's impossible to tell whose apathy is whose.

"I know. Game's great. Might win. Steaks soon."

The key to imitating Charlie is the two word sentence. Any more than that and it gets suspicious.

As Tom, Jessica's dad, continues to talk about something about some game in some sport to someone he thinks cares, I'm still watching the crowd. He's tall. I could potentially see his face above everyone else's. Right?

"Know what I mean, man?"

A few well placed grunts here and there and Tom is practically ready to hang up.

"Make sure to take care of my baby Jessica tonight."

I make Charlie's cough-grunt-blush-embarrassed-mortified noise. I think I inherited it exactly. It's embarrassing.

"Bye now."

I snap the phone shut.

"I know! Mark Zuckerberg never even finished college. Isn't that insane? Now he's like a trillionaire." Hair twirl. Cough. Boob bounce. Chuckle. Arm slap. Eye flutter.

She finally notices me standing there, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, Bella! Did you handle the situation?" She averts her eyes like me talking to her dad is some top secret ordeal that no one can hear about. Boy toy number two is staring at me like I have six heads. I realize he's not even standing up straight, and shift a few steps to the right in order to avoid direct vomit line of fire.

"Yeah. I handled it over by the bathrooms."

Great. Now I sound like I'm talking about my period or something. Thankfully, boy toy number two is too drunk to notice.

"This is Greg. He's an architect."

"I'm studying archeology," Greg slurs.

"That's what I said!" Arm slap. Giggle. Boob bounce.

Greg, Jessica and I find a spot on the grass a few yards behind the people standing up against the stage. Behind it, the sun is setting slowly, casting long shadows all around us. I start to get cold, and pull my shirt over my hands. Jessica's still in her skimpy ensemble. She's probably going to lose at least three toes before the night is over.

The sky looks like cardboard, white and grey and brown and yellow. The clouds are sparse. There are no stars. The two overpowering show lights behind the stage dance around the sky, crossing and waving and replacing the stars. I lay back on the grass, the coarse blades tickling the exposed skin on the back of my neck.

The crowd begins to roar. I watch people's feet as they walk past me, eager to get up to the stage. Greg is passed out already. He's drooling. Jessica doesn't seem to notice. She's too busy trying to save her extremities from the cold.

"I want to go but The Masens are starting." She's shivering and her teeth are chattering. This is the greatest dilemma that has occurred in her life thus far. "Can we at least go up to the crowd where it's warm?" she asks. "I can't miss this."

"Yeah, sure," I mumble half-heartedly, standing up and brushing the stray grass from my body.

It's only when we're halfway through the crowd that I remember who The Masens are. They are a band made of three brothers: Emmett, Jasper, and Edward Cullen. Emmett plays drums, Jasper bass, and Edward lead vocals with the occasional acoustic. Their songs are an eclectic mixture, from brooding and dark to fast-paced with a heavy beat. Their music is commonly played not only on the popular radio stations, but at events and parties as well.

Basically, they're Kings of Leon except not really, really annoying. To further specify, they're Mumford and Sons, but more attractive and less British.

"Come on, we have to get the front," I screech, grabbing onto Jessica's arm like a vulture. She whines about it for a second and then follows me as I push through. People groan and grumble, but we eventually get to the point where there are only two heads in front of me. The bodyguards stand on the other side of the metal fence, their arms crossed over their beefy chests, stern expressions on their faces.

The thing about The Masens is that they are almost completely absent from pop culture. They never do interviews, press releases, or promotion events. They play large festivals, but no small shows. They do tours to gigantic venues, but never sign autographs after they play. Sure, they show up in magazines. But they are never featured. The only thing splashed across the covers of tabloids are paparazzi photos or the occasional professional shot from a festival.

The only exception are Edward's sexcapades. Yes, sexcapades. He dates models and playboy bunnies and actresses and even the occasional publicist. He's a man whore, and the tabloids eat it up. Of course, he never interviews about it. But his overactive libido doesn't exactly keep him out of the magazines, especially when ex-girlfriends are oh-so-willing to spill their guts about the relationship to make a quick buck. He was seriously dating someone—actress Rosalie Hale—but their break-up, only one or two weeks ago, was loud and messy.

In fact, this is their first show since. No one thought they were going to play.

But, here they all are. And it suits. Jesus, kill me now.

I stand on my tip toes to see.

Edward walks up to the microphone and smirk-smiles, eyes looking back and forth over the crowd. He clears his throat and straightens his skinny tie. He wasn't wearing _that _earlier, that's for sure.

I'm probably drooling.

Jessica is jumping up and down, squeezing my hand with such vengeance that I fear for my own blood circulation.

"Hello," Edward says quietly into the microphone. The crowd roars back, one collective play-the-music-before-we-combust-already scream. He smiles again, scratching his neck and turning around, saying something inaudible to Jasper. Jasper nods quickly.

And then they're playing.

It's insane. I'm being pushed and pulled and knocked and bumped. My feet aren't touching the ground, then they are, then they're not. Edward is crooning into the mic, his body contorted around the stand, his brow furrowed, his hair plastered across his forehead, dripping with sweat. They don't stop between songs. It's a mad rush to the finish. A mad rush to get all of these notes and these words out. The excitement is compacted into such a small amount of time that it is almost like a drug. A high. Hands are up and mouths are open and heads are shaking and arms are shaking and bodies are shaking and shaking and shaking.

But then he says, "This is our last song, folks."

He takes a sip of water. Everyone knows what song he's going to play. "Ride." It's off of their first album. It's the song that made them famous. It's heavy and loud with a beat so strong and a bass so loud you can feel it rattle your bones.

One last smirk smile and they're off.

I almost lose my grip on Jessica, the crowd is so mobile. I end up grabbing a fist full of poncho like a lifeline. The music is harsh and almost angry, the bass drum seeming to go faster and faster and faster. It's completely dark now. I can see the stage. The stage and the moon.

They strike out the last dissonant chord. It lingers even after the song has already finished, resonating out into the crowd. They wave, ironically timid. The crowd claps and screams as they leave the stage and the lights go off. Immediately, everyone begins to file toward the exit. I hook arms with Jessica. She's dead on her feet.

It takes us a while just to get back to the car, at which point her arm is draped over my shoulders and her entire body is limp.

Miraculously, she wakes up when I turn the car on.

"Heat!" she cries. "I'm frozen. I'm an icicle. I'm going to die."

"It's already blasting. Calm down."

I'm stuck in traffic and my ears are ringing. I'm stuck in traffic and I want to die. I'm stuck in traffic and everything is surreal.

Somehow, we make it back to my house. Charlie is already asleep, having thought I went to Jessica's. I plan to make up some thing about not having enough sleeping bags at her house in the morning.

"Jess," I whisper.

"Jess." I nudge her shoulder.

"Jess!" I scream, right next to her ear. She bolts upright and smacks her head against the roof of the car.

"Jesus!" she curses. "Hey, did you know my name is Jesus without the letter 'u'?"

"Fascinating," I reply, stumbling out of the car. She follows after me, making an inhuman amount of noise.

"Shut up," I whisper harshly. "Charlie's asleep."

We tip toe up the stairs and into my room. Jess doesn't even make it under the covers before she's asleep. She's still wearing the poncho. I walk into the bathroom and rub my eyes. I look in the mirror and Hell looks back. I stumble back to the bed, taking my pants off as I go.

I'm just about to crawl under the blankets when something smacks into my window. Loudly. Like an entire tree just fell across the roof of my house loudly.

I walk over to the window and tentatively look out.

Okay, there is definitely someone outside of my house. He is definitely staring at my window. And he is definitely Edward Cullen.

I push open the window. It groans and creaks. I don't think it's been opened since I was, like, twelve.

"What the hell?" I yell out the window.

He puts his fingers to his lips and beckons me over with the other hand.

"Why even bother being quiet now?" I scream. "Whatever you just threw at the side of my house sounded like cannon fire."

"I was trying to be subtle!" he yells back. "Can you please come down?" His voice is mildly desperate.

"Did you follow me home?" I yell.

"Maybe. Is that creepy?" he asks.

"Yes!"

"Can you come down anyway?"

I hesitate. It's probably around twelve degrees outside, my dad is sleeping in the other room, I somehow have to go to school tomorrow, and I'm exhausted. On the other hand, it's Edward Cullen. Okay. Settled.

"Hold on."

I turn around and pull on pants as quickly as possible, stumbling down the stairs. He's waiting in the same spot when I open the door. I'm not wearing shoes, and the grass is like ice beneath my feet. He's still wearing his suit from the show and oh, holy hell.

I practically throw myself on him which would be embarrassing except that, somehow, it's not.

He wraps his arms around my lower back and my lips are on his lips so desperately that it can't be normal, can't be real. I grip his hair so hard that he groans, tilting his head, pushing harder.

"Wait," he gasps, pulling back slightly. He's breathing heavily. Short, visible bursts of air.

"What?" I ask. When he's not touching me I feel cold. Too cold. Abnormally cold.

"What's your name?"

* * *

><p><strong>i got stuck in a rut but then i read stella luna sky's all at once and i wasn't anymore<strong>

**it's cos her writing's awesome, in case you were wondering**


	4. Chapter 4

i'm giving you a night to tell you how i feel

i want to drive you through the night, down the hills

i'm gonna tell you something you don't want to hear

i'm gonna show you where it's dark, but have no fear

**nightcall - kavinsky (feat. lovefoxxx)**

* * *

><p>"Bella," I say through cold chapped lips on cold chapped lips. His hand tightens around the back of my neck. It's big and warm and calloused and I don't want it to stop not now oh please not now. A car horn honks. We break apart.<p>

I look at his lips. He looks at mine. Oh, now.

They meet again. It's cold out here but I don't feel it, no I don't. My fingers are frozen but they're on fire, stretched tight, woven into, surrounded by auburn hair. His breath is hot and smells hot but somehow like peppermint, I don't know but I want it. Losing all control.

Another honk.

A shocked break apart.

He smiles.

Oh, now. Sweep me off my feet.

Two more quick pecks. Fingers running down his jaw. Rough stubble. Rough skin. Hands on cheeks. Thumbs on lips. I think my heart is tongue-tied. He's backing away. Don't back away.

He takes three steps back. I take three steps forward.

Into the dark, dark midnight street.

Lips on lips. Our mouths open. Reunion after only moments apart. Torment.

Another honk.

"Cullen, get your ass in the car!"

Lips to jaw. Lips to neck. Lips to lips.

"Cullen!"

We separate. Calloused hands break apart. Wait for me.

"I'll be back," he promises. "I'll be back. I'll be back."

And then he's in the car and then he's gone and wait a minute, when am I going to wake up from this ridiculously strange dream?

I go inside. I go to sleep. Oh, now. Oh.

My alarm goes off only moments later. I still feel his lips where they pressed against mine. I still feel his taste on my tongue.

Jess calls because she's already outside and I'm already late.

"Senior year, bitches!" she cries when I get in the car.

I consider telling her everything. But then I don't. After all, she won't believe me. And even if she does, she'll probably call me a bitch because I didn't tell her last night immediately after it happened.

And, most of all, my half-grown, stunted fairytale seems far too good to be true.

My first class is study hall, which basically means from now on I won't be showing up for school until second period. To pass the time, I pull out my laptop and head straight to Google. Just in case you were wondering, typing Edward Cullen into the search bar brings up an unbearable amount of beautiful pictures. The majority of the sites that post his pictures are blocked, so I end up spending the rest of the hour searching through Google images while trying not to drool on the keyboard. I fail.

At lunch, Jake and Jess are already hooking up in the middle of the cafeteria. A teacher on duty has already broken them up twice, but it's clearly a lost cause. Jake and I had a thing freshman year (and by thing I clearly mean we shared several sloppy bubble-gum flavored kisses in the back of a movie theater and he awkwardly touched my boob once) but he got over it once he met Jess. It might have something to do with the fact that she is much more willing to put out.

I'm not calling Jess a slut though. I mean, she is one, but whatever. She's on the pill and she uses a condom and hell, she enjoys it. Who am I to judge?

Instead of breaking up the tongue tango, I decide to spend my lunch period outside. Technically, we're not supposed to leave campus at lunch, but it's not like anyone pays attention to that rule. I follow the path around to the back of the football field, into the suburb that neighbors the school.

All the houses are similar in their uniqueness. The wraparound porch. The swing. The gardens. The neatly-trimmed lawns. The welcome mats. The Mom vans. The occasional nanny-stroller duo.

I wander through them, fitting in so easily that it disturbs me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It is an unknown number. My heart is in my throat.

"Hello?"

There is an uncomfortable pause.

"Hello, I'm calling to inform you about the status of your credit score . . ."

I snap the phone shut, feeling curiously cock blocked.

"Fuck my life," I mutter and wander back to school grounds.

My bones feel heavy by the time the day is over. My binder is filled with syllabi and class lists and incoming projects and due dates. College posters scream at me from over the counseling office, just an obnoxious reminder about what's to come. Jess finds me after school and we head to our usual place, an ice cream parlor of our youth that is now an abandoned building.

We creep past the "no trespassing" sign and wander to the back. The room we have set up was formerly the manager's. There's a heavy wooden desk no one bothered to move, along with dust-covered shelves filled with odds and ends, pieces of equipment, and boring books.

We've put up a few posters, but the majority of the decorations we've supplied are only empty alcohol bottles that have yet to be recycled.

Jess pulls out a bottle of shitty vodka from her backpack. Forever prepared.

We pass the bottle back and forth.

Swig.

Uch.

Swig.

Uch.

Swig.

We walk back to my house, arms crossed and stumbling, dodging elementary school students returning home from school. It's three in the afternoon.

"I'm gonna go. Dad's been pissed. I don't know. I think he thinks I'm fucked up. I don't know. I don't know." Jess picks a flower from our neighbor's garden.

"Kay."

"Maybe I'll give him this!" She throws it into the road. A car zooms by, crushing it ruthlessly. "Never mind," she amends.

"Later."

"Yup."

I wander inside, going up to my room and shutting the door behind me. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Watching the way the world whirls. Vodka.

It isn't long before my doorbell rings. I smile.

"Edward," I say as I open the door. And he's there, of course, all beautiful it's not even fair. He steps past me into the house.

"Hey." He leans against the counter. I want to see him shirtless.

"You're an idiot. My dad could be home."

His face turns red.

"I'm an idiot," he confesses.

"I know."

"Okay. Is he coming home?"

"Not 'til late."

"Okay."

. . .

"You taste like vodka."

. . .

The sun sets and he's laying on the couch, stretched along the cushions my dad likes to look ugly and old in. His weathered band shirt rides up so I can see that hair, you know, that hair that leads down there, straight down there. His stubble is growing in so I know he hasn't shaved. His head leans against a hand, which leads to a flexed bicep, which leads to a toned chest. It really isn't fair, is it?

"I have to go on the road tomorrow. Another show in Bellingham."

"I don't want you to go," I reply.

"Me neither."

"Then don't."

"Okay," he agrees, and I sidle up next to him on the couch.

My legs straddle his legs and

My arms straddle his arms and

My lips straddle his lips and

The keys rattle in the front door.

"Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Balls. Fuck." I curse.

I throw myself off the couch and grab Edward's arm, pushing him into the coat closet nearest to the couch. He makes a distressed noise as I close the door in his face.

"Hey Bells," Charlie says. I'm still straightening my hair and the cushions and the couch and my emotions. "What are you up to? You look tired."

Gee, thanks.

"I was just taking a nap," I lie.

He nods, taking off his cop stuff so slowly that I kind of want to die.

"I brought home some pizza for dinner," he says. "I haven't eaten with you for so long, I guess I wanted a father daughter dinner night. How does that sound? Bill at the station does it with his kid every week."

"Um . . ."

"We don't have to," he says. Damn the guilt trip.

"No, Dad, that sounds good."

I walk over to the kitchen, eying the closet the whole way. Poor guy; it smells like someone died and decomposed in that closet.

I stuff my face with pizza but Charlie draws it out, naturally. He asks me about my first day and he asks me about Jess and he asks me about college and oh my God I think Edward is probably suffocating.

By the time we pack up all the food, I've already assumed Edward to be dead.

"Well, I'm exhausted. I think I'm just gonna hit the sack," Charlie says, mounting the stairs. I wait until I hear his door shut before going to the closet.

Edward stands stock still, surrounded on either side by two heavy winter jackets. He blinks at the light then steps out.

"I almost died," he says.

"I know. Sorry."

"I've gotta go now, don't I?" he asks.

I nod.

"But you'll be back?"

"I'll be back."

* * *

><p><strong>this is kassiah's fault mostly. i'm an idiot. hi. sorry if this sucks.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

and even when you're healthy

and your color schemes delight

down beneath those dandy clothes

you're just a shade too white

**adam & the ants**

* * *

><p>Day one, day two, day three, let's go.<p>

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, let's go.

Rosalie Hale is all over the newspapers.

The Masens have cancelled their upcoming shows.

Jasper and Emmett want to quit the band.

Edward lays in my bed, shirtless, eyes open wide, mouth parted, hot breath, hot sex.

"I want to marry you," he says.

"Then marry me," I say.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," I say.

Jake comes over. Muscle shirt. Backwards baseball cap. Grease-covered arms. Stilted smile. Three quick knocks on the door. No less, no more.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. Edward sits behind me in clear view. He doesn't seem to care. He dips a tortilla chip into salsa until it breaks.

"Is that Edward Cullen?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Can I have a chip?" he asks.

"Yeah."

We're sitting at the kitchen table. Edward's hand roams up my leg. Higher! I bite my lip. I bite it harder. I taste some blood. That's okay.

Charlie isn't home. That's okay. I guess that's good.

Jess is grounded. Again. Whatever.

"Are The Masens really going to break up?" Jake asks. A chunk of salsa falls off of the chip and onto his shirt. He brushes it off onto the floor.

Edward shrugs.

"Don't think so."

"But if you do that could potentially be really bad and all that?" he asks.

"Don't think so. I don't know."

"If you break up Jess will probably die," I interject.

"Why?"

"Because she worships you."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, we probably won't."

There's a pause. The intro to The Real World plays in the background, emanating from the living room. The refrigerator hums. Children scream on the sidewalk. Birds chirp next to the window. The dishwasher groans. My stomach growls. It's all very quiet.

"So I heard Jasper is a dick. Like he's a dick of the three of you. Dunno," Jake says, his mouth half full.

"He's not a dick," Edward says monotonously. "Well, kind of."

"I don't like him. He's a dick to his girlfriend. I don't like him."

"Well."

"How old are you anyway?" Jake asks.

"Twenty-five."

"Oh. I still don't like Jasper."

"Okay."

I slide into Edward's lap. His hands wrap around my waist, tightly locked. Nose brushes nose brushes cheek brushes eyebrow brushes ear brushes neck. Friday night, thank the Lord it's Friday night.

"Well, I guess I'm gonna go."

Jake dismisses himself. He even locks the door and goes out he garage. Charlie won't be home tonight. Night shift. Oh, the blessed night shift.

He lifts me up. He carries me up. He fills me up.

I sigh against his neck. He's walking backward into my room. The door gives way easily. The room is dark. The window is shut. The walls are bare. The bed is made. The hallway is gone. The carpet is soft. The blanket is warm. The clothes are folded. The nights are long. The nights are long. The nights are long.

I've never felt this way before, I guess. With all this pain and all this pleasure, I guess. Burning and pushing and pulling and holy Christ, holy Christ, holy Christ I'm not even religious.

The curtains blow in the breeze. Edward opens the window. He's naked. I'm shy. I'm wrapped up. He's not. He doesn't care. He's done this before. I expect him to leave, I guess. Not really, but kind of. He doesn't. He slides back into bed. He rolls on his side. He whispers in my ear. Over and over and over again.

"I've never felt like this before."

Jess calls early the next morning because she's an annoying bitch even when she doesn't realize she's being an annoying bitch.

I pull myself out of bed feeling hot and cold and sticky and stale. Edward pulls himself into the spot I just vacated and then immediately falls back asleep. I listen to the ringing phone for a moment, just watching the way his back rises and falls beneath the white fabric of the sheet.

"What?" I ask into the phone.

"We're supposed to be going out today," she whines.

"You're grounded."

"So?"

"So . . ."

"I'm coming over."

Dial tone.

"Fuck," I curse.

I crawl back into bed, pressing up against warm, soft skin until I fall asleep once more. And then I'm awoken moments later by a relentless fist on an unforgiving wooden door. I pull the pillow over my head as Edward gets up, pulling on his pants and going for the door. Jess pushes past him and jumps onto the bed, causing my whole body to bounce.

"Can you like, _not _be naked right now so we can go out? Dad still doesn't know I'm gone. Also you didn't tell me you were fucking this guy and therefore I hate you."

I blink rapidly at her several times.

Jess looks confused. Jess turns around. Jess stares at Edward.

"What the shit?" she asks.

Edward throws up an embarrassingly half-hearted wave.

"What the shit?" she repeats.

"What the shit?" and again. And again. And again.

"Bella, you're like this generations Yoko Ono!" Jess cries.

"I don't know what that means."

"The Masens are breaking up and here you are fucking the lead singer!"

"Oh."

"Seriously though but some clothes on."

I do and then we go and Edward has to wear a hat and sunglasses so he doesn't get caught being alive and human in downtown Seattle. All of the tabloids we pass are plastered with rumors about the band's imminent demise, along with some info about Jasper and his girlfriend, and Emmett doing the nasty with Edward's ex-girlfriend Rosalie Hale.

I show him the tabloid. He looks confused. He throws it in the trash.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," I say.

One arm is draped over my shoulders as we wander through Pike's Place. He buys me a flower, which I immediately donate to the nearest homeless person. Edward looks offended for a moment, but he gets over it quickly.

"If I buy you a diamond, don't give it to a homeless person," he says.

"Okay," I consent.

And then he buys me a diamond.

Well, it's cubic zirconia.

Well, it's plastic.

I wear it anyway.

It starts to rain.

The shops close and we duck inside a Starbucks, of which there are plenty. Edward orders us drinks while Jess gives me the third degree, which basically just means her asking me exactly how many times we've had sex (a whopping one time) and exactly how long I've kept it from her (a whopping one week).

We sit for a while until Edward begins to garner some curious glances. A small woman with a button nose tentatively comes over, clutching her coffee cup with a grip of pure steel. She stands a few feet away from us for a few moments before closing the distance.

"Excuse me, are you Edward Cullen?" she asks Edward. He looks up at her from beneath the sunglasses in a way that makes it so painfully obvious that she is exactly correct. In fact, I'm a little embarrassed I didn't notice the first time I met him.

"Um . . ." Edward stutters.

"Can I just have your autograph?" she asks quickly.

He signs it and she leaves, but now more people are whispering and talking and pointing and I guess we better get out of here.

We're greeted by flashing cameras. Edward pulls me to the side, shielding my face as Jessica trips along behind us. The walk to the car is stupidly long, and by the time we get in there's a large pack following.

I drop Jess off at her house and drive Edward back to mine. We make sure no one is following before we get out, jogging quickly up the steps. Charlie's car is in the driveway. Edward eyes it warily.

I notice his eyes dart behind my left shoulder where his car is parked a few houses down.

"I should go," he says.

"Yeah," I say.

"Sorry," he says.

"Oh," I say.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he says.

"Okay," I say.

And he kisses me and he leaves and I sleep and Charlie sleeps and Charlie goes to work and he comes back but not alone.

No, for Jasper and Emmett are here with him, too.

* * *

><p><strong>i realize this is becoming more and more stream of consciousness. uh... sorry<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

but i still wake up, i still see your ghost

oh lord, i'm still not sure what i stand for oh,

what do i stand for? what do i stand for?

most nights, i don't know anymore

**fun.**

* * *

><p><strong>quick recap: edward is in a band called the masens with jasper and emmett. he's 25. he's obsessed with bella, 17, to the point where the band is going to break up. bella is friends with jessica and jake, who are dating. jake hates jasper for the way he treats his girlfriend.<strong>

* * *

><p>The entire band is in my living room. Living. I don't even know what to do or say or think. Edward is all casual, like it's just a regular thing. Which I guess it is. For him. He pulls me into his side, kissing me on the forehead, acting like Jasper and Emmett aren't staring at him like he's grown a second head.<p>

"She's like a baby," Emmett says.

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Edward asks, queerly polite. I blush. Beet red. "Don't be embarrassed. I'm not embarrassed," he says, just for me. "Remember, I want to marry you."

"Then marry me."

"Okay."

I get them all lemonade, and then The Masens are sitting in my living room drinking lemonade. After a few minutes, Edward excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

"Look, Bella. We have to go on the road," Emmett says, leaning forward onto his knees. "You understand that, right?" He's talking slowly, like I'm mentally handicapped.

I grip the arm of the couch.

"I'm not retarded."

"We can't just stay in Seattle forever," Jasper interjects. "Once all this riot about us breaking up passes, no one will care and we'll get dropped from the label."

"Oh."

"You don't know what this means," Emmett says. "He can't just _be_ with you. We're not the same type of people."

"Oh."

"We need you to convince him to let you go. It'll be better for him in the long run."

"Oh."

"This is just another one of his phases."

"Oh."

The grandfather clock in the living room tolls loud and angry, steady and strong. The deep chime seems to rattle through my whole body, rumbling around in my ribcage and slicing through my heart.

"Why so serious?" Edward asks with his stupid little smirk, entering the room without a care in the world.

I don't meet his eye.

"What's wrong?" Wary voice. Arm around my shoulder. I lean away.

Better for him, anyway.

"Bella?"

I look at the ground.

"What did you motherfuckers say?"

And now he's mad, blown twice his size, fists clenched, rising, stalking over to where they sit on the couch.

"Nothing, Edward. Jesus Christ."

Jasper's rolling his eyes.

"That's a fucking lie." His fist closes around Jasper's collar. He lifts him, shoves him into the wall. The picture of Charlie and I rattles around in its frame, precariously close to shattering on the floor.

He lifts and pushes him again, testosterone. The little teacups in the china cabinet tremble.

"Are you on your fucking period?" Emmett asks, standing.

Edward's going to punch him. I know it. I can feel it. The tension in the room mounts and mounts and mounts until I feel like I can't even breathe. I just want to yell out, to scream. Mute.

There are three quick knocks at the door.

Everyone freezes, bones locked. They turn and stare.

I get up and open it. Outside stands Jake, casually carrying a six pack.

"Yo, Bella. Jess is here, right?"

He pushes past me and into the entryway, walking clean past the living room and straight into the kitchen. He deposits the six pack on the floor and plops himself down into a wooden chair, feet up on the table.

"She's not here."

There are no sounds from the living room. I wonder if they've left through the back door. Quiet as a morgue.

"Oh, she texted earlier saying she was going to be here. Maybe she'll show up." He reaches down and grabs a can from the pack. Opens it with a click, pop, hiss.

"I'll call you when she gets here how about?"

"I'll just wait."

"Jake."

"What is this? You look like you're about to explode."

I hear someone walk into the room behind me. Feet on tile floor, shoes tapping.

"Hey Edward," Jake says, casual. He takes a sip of the beer.

"Jake," he replies. His voice is tenser than I have ever heard it. A live wire. "Can I talk to Bella?"

"I don't care."

"Leave."

Jake makes a face and pushes himself into a standing position. He walks around us toward the entryway, feet shuffling like a small child.

"Whatever, dude."

I wait until I hear the front door open and close before I look at Edward. He's staring straight at me. Straight through me. Straight to the bone. All of me and everything and it's scary because I stare straight back, wanting more than anything for the strength to tell him to leave.

"Bella."

"What?"

Looking at the floor. The tile, so interesting. The tile.

"Don't listen to them, Bella. They don't fucking get us, okay? They don't fucking get it."

"Maybe I don't get us either."

He groans.

"Yeah, right."

"I don't."

"I want to marry you, Bella? You get that? You get it?"

"Then marry me."

"Okay! Right fucking now. I'll do it right fucking now."

His voice is cracking, breaking. He drops to his knees in front of me. I look to the side.

"We can't."

"Why?"

"I'm not eighteen until next week, okay? So we couldn't even if we wanted to."

"Look at me."

I look away.

"Hey, look at me," he repeats. His hand is under my jaw, gentle but firm. I look at him. Christ. I shouldn't have. Christ. His eyes are green as the fucking earth, as the goddamn fucking earth. "I can wait a week. Can you wait a week? I can."

God help me, I nod.

"Yeah?" he asks. He's smiling now. Tentative, but there. Growing.

I nod again.

"Jesus." His hands clasp mine. "I thought I lost you for a second there. I thought it for a second."

He kisses me then, pulling me into his body, wrapping his arms around my back. Hand on face on neck on shoulder on stomach on waist. He sighs, forehead against forehead and he's still painfully beautiful up close and it isn't fair, isn't fair.

"And in one week you'll be mine, I'll make sure of it," he says.

"I'm already yours."

"Thank God."

"Thank God."

We're close to kissing again, so close always close. A moment before our lips touch a harsh cry sounds from somewhere just outside the house. Confused, we break apart.

"Stay here," Edward says.

I don't.

I peek around his shoulder as he opens the front door.

From the ground, Jake cradles his face. Emmett, a few feet away, hold Jasper back, both arms locked beneath his armpits. Jasper continues to lunge forward. I push around Edward and run toward Jake.

I move his hands away from his nose. They are bloody.

"What the fuck?" Edward asks.

"This dumbass claims he's going to steal my girlfriend," Jasper spits out. "Says he's going to fuck Leah."

* * *

><p><strong>i'm writing this again because of reasons<strong>


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